Finish Line

I found myself hesitating.

Not losing stamina or endurance,
Just convincing myself this was too good to be true.

It was like the exhale was caught,
trapped between my lungs and my throat,
begging for liberation,
climbing for the view of the horizon.

It was nobody’s fault but my own.

A belief that what lied beyond was fleeting,
a faded love met in a dark and noisy room,
a conversation of promise with no followup,
a joy that was snuffed out as quickly as it was sparked.

“Stop that.”

It wasn’t loud, or thunderous.
Quiet. Sure. Confident.

Not outside of me, but in me.

“You deserve to cross the finish line.”

Because it was never just that I was crossing it,
it was that I knew I was first place.